


Pancakes & Fake Threats

by aquadamn



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batwoman (Comic), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics)
Genre: @ dc why you know notice, AND WHY, and no one ever mentions it, because bette and grant are related, i decided to write a fic, i just??????, since nobody else was acknowledging this part of the kane family tree, why, why do we not acknowledge that deathstroke the terminator was married to batman's aunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 07:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13208973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquadamn/pseuds/aquadamn
Summary: Sometimes, he needs to get away and there's only one person he knows who'll understands it.(Plus, if he doesn't make sure his little cousin sleeps, who will?)





	Pancakes & Fake Threats

Sometimes, he needed to get out.

Slade-- Dad-- did he even deserve that title?-- would become too much for him to deal with and he needed an out. He couldn't go to Peabody, he was sure that Slade would find him if he did. Joey and his mother were dead. Most of the people he grew attached to ended up that way, apart from one. She was oddly consistent, despite the fact that he thought she should've died when she was younger.

Honestly, Bette Kane was one of the most reckless people he knew.

She wasn't back from wherever it was she went when he arrived, so he let himself in through her window. She wouldn't mind. That was one of his favourite things about his cousin; he could break into her apartment and she wouldn't bat a single eyelid.

He flopped onto her couch, wincing slightly in pain. The broken ribs he'd gotten from the last mission still hadn't healed and, instead of allowing him a brief reprieve of rest, Slade just made him go right back into the fray. It was driving Grant insane. All day, every day was spent training or fighting, with nothing left. Not since his mother and brother passed away.

The slamming of a door alerted him to his cousin's mood and when Bette let out an overly dramatic sigh at seeing him, he wasn't even slightly surprised.

"Nice to see you too, Betty", he drawled.

"Why are you here?"

"Gotham's always so nice this time of the year."

She narrowed her eyes dangerously. "Do I need to have a conversation with Deathstroke? Because my flamethrower is ready to go."

"Well, do I need to have a friendly chat with Batwoman? Because my guns are loading."

Bette huffed, sitting down next to him. "She's just-- ugh! The way she treats me, you'd think I'd never been a hero before!"

Grant frowned. "I seriously thought you'd been in spandex longer than her."

"I have!" She exclaimed angrily. "Like, I was Bat-Girl before she was Batwoman!"

"Let me guess-- she refuses to acknowledge that?"

"Exactly! And I don't even understand why! I mean, would she treat _Babs_ this way? _No_. Just me."

"Probably just being 'protective'."

"Protectiveness becomes bullshit once the person you're protecting can handle their own goddamn selves!" Bette snapped back. She sighed, dragging a tired hand through her frizzy hair. "What's going on in your life that made you decide to crash here?"

"Slade's being a little shit."

"At what point is he not a little shit?"

"First of all", Grant started, "fuck you for being right. Secondly, he's being a bigger little shit than usual."

Bette blinked. "I am way too tired to process what you just said, so let's just leave it at 'I'm right, you're wrong'."

"No."

"Ugh, asshole."

"Hey, at least I'm not as bad as Batman."

She tilted her head, considering it, before nodding in defeat. "He drives me crazy, with his whole 'I-will-adopt-every-orphan-I-see' thing, while the rest of his family gets left in the dust."

"You're just mad because you couldn't convince him to adopt Joey or I."

"It's Joey or me, and no, I'm just mad because he's an arsehole."

"Uh huh."

She pouted. "It's totally true!"

"Sure, Betty", he replied with a lazy smirk. "Just like how your hyphen was a good idea."

"Must I push you off a roof again?"

He winced. "Please, don't. I don't need the bruises from that."

She nudged him in the ribs, her playful grin fading into a look of concern when he let out a hiss of pain.

"Grant? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"What the hell happened?" She pressed.

"Broken ribs", he admitted.

"They don't look treated."

"Kind had to kill the people who gave me them first."

She huffed angrily, pulling a first aid kit from under her table. He stared at her, wondering just how many she had, and she pulled out bandages, as well as some pain medications.

The drugs were shoved towards him and he knew better than to reject them once she gave her the glare. It was one that scared him more than the goddamn Batglare and one that was apparently only reserved for family members. It was impossibly terrifying and he was pretty sure she knew it because she usually had a smug smirk on her face right after she used it.

Bette finished tended to his wounds-- she saw a need to stitch all his severe cuts-- and she fell back against the couch, her feet placed on the table after she kicked off her boots.

"Thanks, Betty", Grant said in a low voice, eyes drooping.

She gave him a small smile. "No problem, cuz. Just... you know you can come when you aren't injured, right?"

He grumbled something incoherent in response, making her whack him over the head with a cushion.

"Go to the spare room, asshole", she ordered. "I have to clean your blood off the couch."

"'m comfy here though", he mumbled in response.

"My flamethrower is literally three steps away from me."

He let out a low groan, but got to his feet, biting the inside of his cheek as pain from his ribs radiated upwards. As much as he loved his cousin, there was nothing he hated more than her goddamn flamethrowers. Being burnt was quite possibly the worst kind of injury and Bette had a tendency to aim for the place where it would hurt most.

He stumbled into her spare room and flopped onto the bed, ignoring how the room was painted in his favourite colours and decorated with random memorabilia he had collected. Though neither of them would admit it, Bette's spare room had become Grant's bedroom, and he secretly loved it-- not that he would actually admit to having emotions, of course. 

* * *

Grant woke to the smell of pancakes and he had to fight back a grin. Bette always pretended like she cooked when he wasn't around, even though he was well aware of how much bullshit that was. He legitimately didn't understand her reluctance to make her own food; Bette was an amazing cook and, _god_ , he'd kill someone over her pancakes.

He got up slowly, careful not to pull any of his stitches. He had learned the hard way that while Bette was fine with him bleeding out on her couch if he bled on a bed, she would attack. He had also learned the hard way that he could not, under any circumstances, win in a fight against her, especially if that flamethrower of hers was involved. (Although, she did get him once with her tasers).

Bette gave him a sleepy wave as he entered the kitchen, raising her hand to cover her yawn. She looked exhaustion, with her usually styled hair tied into a sloppy ponytail and large bags hanging under her eyes. For the first time, Grant wondered if she was _actually_ okay and not just putting on a fake front to keep everyone around her happy.

"You gonna eat or what?" She asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. "I don't make pancakes for just anyone, you know."

"I know", he replied with a tired grin. "And I appreciate, Betty, really, but... are you okay?"

She let out a soft hum in response. "Of course I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be?"

"I dunno. You just seem... off."

"I'm fine, Grant", she assured him with a laugh. "Just a little tired, that's all. It's a little hard, juggling Kate's training, my college course and patrol."

"You haven't made a stupid amount of puns yet."

"We still have until you randomly leave without warning."

He raised an eyebrow. "I give a warning."

"A note on the fridge after you've left is not a warning, Grant."

"I put it on the fridge before I leave, therefore, it counts."

"No, it doesn't!"

"Yes, it does!"

"Honestly, how the hell did Joey put up with you?"

"Well, he always was a lot more patient than you."

"I can be patient!"

"Really? You've never displayed that skill before."

 "Well, at least I'm not an assassin."

"Do you always have to play that card?"

She smirked. "Oh hell yeah, I do."

"I hate you."

"Love you too, Grant", she teased, taking a sip from her mug of coffee. In the background, Grant could see several more mugs piled up in the sink and he frowned. He thought the third Robin was the one with the caffeine addiction, not his cousin. 

* * *

As Bette threw on her coat, getting ready to go out the door and to train with Kate, Grant stepped in front of her, a scowl on his face.

"No."

"No?" She questioned, hand on her hip. "No what?"

"You're exhausted, Betty."

"It's Bette now."

"Well, Betty, I don't give a damn. You go to bed and I'll cover for you."

She raised an eyebrow. "And how do you intend on doing that?"

"I have my ways."

"No guns allowed."

"Does that mean you'll go to bed?"

She hesitated, considering it, before answering. "Yes-- but only because you'd probably shoot me if I tried to leave."

"I wouldn't shoot you", he protested. "I would mildly stun you with a taser."

"So much better", she drawled through a yawn, tossing her coat onto the couch. "See you in an hour."

"Make it three!"

"Two's the best you're getting!" She called back.

He sighed, shaking his head. Sometimes, her inane determination was good. Other times, like now, it pissed him off endlessly. He would try and argue with her more, but he knew that was a battle he was sure to lose.

Besides, he had to come up with an excuse for Bette to be at least two hours late for Kate's training. 

* * *

Bette was woken up exactly two hours after she fell asleep, by Batman and Batwoman crashing through her bedroom window and immediately scanning for enemies. She sent Kate a questioning look, wondering what the hell was even happening.

"Deathstroke used your phone to call us. Said he was going to kill you if we didn't find you in two hours."

"No, Deathstroke wasn't--" Bette stopped mid-sentence, letting out an exasperated sigh. She got to her feet, ignoring her cousins as she stormed into the kitchen and ripped the note off the fridge.

_I promised you an excuse, but I never said it would be a good one :)  
_ G_

She bit back a laugh. Of course, he would do something as dramatic and extra as this.

God, she loved her cousin.


End file.
